


Quiet in the Kitchen

by DuckInterpreter



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Restaurant, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-14
Updated: 2014-01-14
Packaged: 2018-01-08 17:38:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1135522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DuckInterpreter/pseuds/DuckInterpreter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek loves how the noise of the kitchen drowns out his past, when someone pierces through that he might not deal with it very well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Quiet in the Kitchen

The things that Derek loved most about working in a busy restaurant was the quiet. Now, particularly for anyone has ever worked in a kitchen, that might sound wrong. But, you’re probably saying, kitchens are loud! They’re full of people yelling at each other and roaring equipment and the banging of metal on metal. That’s true, and if Derek could find a way to put it into words, he’d tell you that was exactly what made it quiet. When he was yelling at kitchen hands and other chefs, and noise engulfed him, his mind was quiet. He seemed stressed all the time when he was working, constantly moving and barking orders and sometimes throwing things at people, but inside was total calm. He loved it.

  
So imagine his surprise when thoughts started breaking through.

  
It all started when Miles Davonte wrote a review on the place. Derek had been head chef for eighteen months, he’d been slowly building the place up, making a reputation for himself, and so it was a huge achievement when Davonte wrote such a shining review. The place had been full every night since. They’d had to hire on new help. The issue came with the new help. His name was Stiles. He was a secondary sous chef, to work on nights that Allison had off (she had some second family job and had to have three or four days off a week.)

  
Usually one of the cooks did her work when she was off, but that wasn’t cutting it with a full house, so they interviewed and on came this guy, energetic and friendly, with a great resume and shining references. It was a total no-brainer. Derek didn’t even notice his perfectly caramel eyes, his long fingers and strong forearms, or the perfect ratio of his shoulders and waist.

  
Then on his first night, Derek grabbed something and Stiles’ hand brushed his. Derek dropped the tray, and spent the rest of the night bewildered with himself. When Allison was on it was fine, but every night Stiles worked Derek became antsy and nervous. His mind wouldn’t shut up and he stopped being able to sleep. It got to the point where he resented Stiles’ very presence.

  
It came to a head one night when Stiles had been rostered on all week. Derek had had less than three hours sleep every night. The staff were exchanging worried glances at Derek’ dishevelled hair, the dark rings under his eyes, the slight tremor that ran through his hands. Stiles handed him a large platter to finish plating and his hand slipped at the last second, the platter slipping from him hand and falling to the floor and shattering, spraying shards of porcelain and vegetables across the floor.  
Derek stared at it, and for a few long moments there was a ringing silence. Everyone froze.

  
Stiles’ eyes widened. He had been feeling the hostility rolling off Derek for the past month or so and had done his best to keep his head down. Sometimes he watched Derek when Derek was too busy to notice, his heart in his throat at the fluidity of his movements, at the way the muscles in his back moved under his jacket. He could tell Derek didn’t like him, and for some perverse reason it just made Stiles even more attracted to him.

  
Now, Derek clenched his fists and Stiles closed his eyes, sure he was about to get punched. He just hoped they were out of the customers line of sight. After a moment Stiles opened one eye, to find Derek staring at him with such raw aggression Stiles almost wished he’d just hit him and get it over with.  
Scott, the manager, happened to be in the kitchen. Smoothly, he stepped between them, facing Derek.  
“Dude, you know, we’re finishing the last rush of the night. Go home, get some sleep.”  
Derek opened his mouth, as if to argue, and his eyes met Stiles’ for a moment.  
“Fine.” He said, shortly. He pulled off his apron and threw it on the counter and then he was gone. With a sigh, Stiles started to clean up the shards, Scott kneeling to help.

 

Stiles hesitated at the door, raising his fist for the fourth time to knock before letting it fall again. Scott, Allison, all of the kitchen hands, even Lydia had tried to talk him out of coming. But he couldn’t deal with it any more. He was going to find out Derek’s problem or he would quit. He apologized to Scott, he told him he would work until they replaced him, but it was too much.  
Scott had understood, but told him he wouldn’t be there to stop Derek murdering him if Stiles went to his house.  
“We’ll be sad to see you go, Stiles, but it’s going to be much worse if you’re dead,” Scott had said. Stiles wasn’t sure how much was serious and how much was in jest. He didn’t ask.  
He raised his hand a fifth time and hesitated, when the door was wrenched open.  
“Who the hell-“ Derek exclaimed, stopping short and narrowing his eyes. “What do you want?” he asked, scowling.  
“I want-“ Stiles cleared his throat and tried again, his voice a little stronger. “I want to know what problem you have with me.”  
Derek’s jaw clenched, and then relaxed. “Go away, Stiles.” He said tiredly. “Just… go.”  
Stiles blinked. This was not what he was expecting.  
“I- uh.. No. No, I want to know. I’ll quit if I have to.”  
Derek took a deep swig from a tumbler of amber liquid in his hand and sighed, turning around and walking unsteadily back into the house.  
“Come in, then.” He called over his shoulder.

“Do you want a drink?” Derek called from the kitchen. Stiles sat on the edge of a couch in the lounge room.  
“Uh, no, thanks, I’m cycling home.”  
Derek came back, carrying two glasses and frowning.  
“You can’t drink because you’re riding a bicycle? I thought being able to drink was the whole point of having a bike?”  
“I’ll have you know, there are hundreds of accidents caused every year by drunk cyclists. Plus it’s a really big fine.”  
Derek placed a large glass of the same amber liquid in front of him.  
“Suit yourself.”  
He flopped down on the couch, sipping his drink and staring up at the ceiling.  
“Are you, like, really drunk, Derek?” Stiles frowned.  
“What. No. I’m just relaxing after a shit day at work.”  
“Oh.” Stiles looked down and mentally shrugged, picking up the glass and downing half of it in one go. He gasped, that stuff _burnt_. Derek watched, a small smile playing on his lips.  
“Look. I know you don’t like me. I wanted to see if we could sort out whatever it is, otherwise… otherwise I’ll leave. I’m being serious.”  
“There’s no problem, alright? I’m just a prick. Everyone gets under my skin so don’t take it so personally.” Derek didn’t meet Stiles’ eye.  
Teeth clenched, Stiles stood.  
“Fine.”  
He grabbed his helmet and walked to the door, and a firm hand closed on his arm. He spun, suddenly furious. How dare this arrogant goddamn bastard treat him like this? He had been nothing but a model employee, he’d never had a complaint about his work. And then here came this- this _guy_ , who made him feel so small he felt like he was about to disappear every time he looked at him. Well- he was done with it.

  
He opened his mouth to say all of this, truly it was on the tip of his tongue, but he never got a chance, because he spun and heat filled Derek’s eyes and then Derek’s mouth was on his. Stiles found himself pushed up against a wall, his hands on Derek’s neck, running through his hair, tracing his jaw. Derek’s hands pushed at the hem of his shirt and ran over the small of his back and his hips.  
They separated, gasping a little.  
“Oh.” Stiles said. “Right.”  
“Yeah,” Derek said, his cheeks suddenly red, “I- um-”  
Concerned that Derek was about to say something that meant no more making out, Stiles pulled him back forward, kissing him again. This time he noticed the slight roughness of Derek’s stubble, sharply contrasted by the softness of his lips and tongue. He tasted like whisky, and also like something else, something- undefinable. Stiles loved it. Derek pressed a leg between Stiles’, grinding between his legs and Stiles moaned into his mouth. Derek growled and fumbled with the button on Stiles’ pants, pulling them open and dragging them down. Stiles’ cock sprang free and Derek ran a hand over it, gripping the base briefly and rubbing a thumb over the head, smearing precum over it.  
“Fuck.” Stiles breathed.  
Derek kneeled, gently holding Stiles cock in both hands, he looked up at him. Stiles could barely breathe.  
“Is this okay?” He asked.  
“Oh god yes.” Stiles said.  
Derek took Stiles into his mouth, sucking gently, pulling him deeper, deeper, until his mouth rested at the base, before pulling back and encircling his head, licking along his slit, and taking him back into his throat.  
“Oh, fuck. Christ.” Stiles moaned. “Oh my god Derek.”  
He arched against the wall. Derek was moving rhythmically, bobbing along his length, stopping occasionally to lick up the underside. Stiles moaned incoherently.  
He gripped Derek’s hair.  
“I’m- Derek, I’m going to-,” he panted.  
Derek redoubled his efforts, moving even faster, increasing the suction slightly.  
Stiles bucked as he came, pulling Derek’s hair and gasping his name. Derek swallowed and pulled away after a moment. Stiles stared at the ceiling for a moment, then slid down the wall until he sat at Derek’s level. He pulled him in by the lapels and kissed him, tasting himself on Derek’s lips.  
“That was not a part of the resolution I imagined when I thought about how this night would go.” Stiles told him, smiling widely.

Derek led him to the bedroom where Stiles sat on his lap and rocked on his cock, and then where Stiles took Derek into his mouth, where Derek kneeled and Stiles entered him, slowly, painstakingly gently. Several hours later Derek’s mind was quiet and they spoke in whispers in the darkness.  
“My first girlfriend was when I was fifteen. She was twenty-five. Kate. She was… brutal. I stayed with her for three years, and then my parents- my cousins, my sisters… there was a fire. She couldn’t stand me being weak, she said. So she left. After that was Jennifer. I genuinely don’t even know what I saw in her, we were just together one day. And then, when I finally became attached, she left too.”  
Stiles was silent, listening.  
“I went through a period where I fucked a lot of people, but that was before I started working at the restaurant. And then you came along, and you were the first person I had wanted in, probably, two years? I didn’t even recognise it anymore.”  
He was silent and Stiles swallowed, not sure what to say that could tell Derek that he had wanted him for every moment since he met, that he had no intention of ever lying or cheating or leaving.  
“I’m sorry- that was, that was pretty heavy wasn’t it? Christ, I’m sorry-“ Derek said, groaning.  
Stiles turned on his side to face him.  
“I love you, I think.” He said, quietly. There was a long, quiet pause.  
“How’s that for heavy?”  
It broke the tension and they laughed, together, warm and familiar already. Stiles yawned and sat up.  
“I’m hungry, can I cook something for you?” He asked.  
“Only if you promise not to put on clothes.”  
Stiles laughed, delightedly, and cupped Derek’s face in his hands, kissing him gently.  
“Never ever, _ever_ again.”


End file.
